The Godhead
by Vespertine Noir
Summary: The peculiarities of life had a way of pursuing the proprietor of Sothe Novelty.The self proclaimed clairvoyant with a penchant for accumulating "pets" resides w/in a neurosis of an overly structured life.A succession of omens shall undo the conventional.
1. Seeing Through the Perpetual Blind

Summary: The peculiarities of life had a way of pursuing the proprietor of _Sothe Novelty_. The self proclaimed "clairvoyant" with a penchant for accumulating "pets" resides within a neurosis of an overly structured life. But this said life, after a succession of omens will ensure everything as she knows will no longer be the conventional.

Fiction title and summary may be subject to change.

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**Chapter One**

**Seeing Through the Perpetual Blind**

Perhaps it was the notoriety, much like an appendage, that came hand in hand in taking on certain _charitable_ cases that prodded her forward. Contrary to popular belief though, one could expect that charity would only provoke amiable salutations, which was the train of thought that incessantly ran through her mind. After two years in London, she had decided, she would neither get over the damp nor the impending dread that seemed to want to stay with her these days. Maybe that was what had been worrying her, the touch of vacillating fear that frayed her nerve and skipped at the pit of her stomach and forced her legs to briskly toddle beyond their means. The warm sensation of exhaustion built up within the rounds of both calf muscles, causing her to walk slightly irregular and further overly use up the stretch of sidewalk before her. And to make matters far worse, she was poorly dressed for the warranted occasion.

Marlowe stood out like a sore thumb. She wore possibly the most horrid shade of pumpkin fathomable to man, and further rode out the transgression by choosing such a brilliant tint that regardless of season or trend made it obsolete. For the layers of the coloring was far too jovial to have any kind of business being in this part of town amongst neutrals, dark denim wash, and other somber tones mixed in along with the dregs of social order. But yet her feet did move her onward, knowing their purpose.

_Maybe it would be too late_, she thought. But then again maybe not she concluded in her finding an efficient rationale in seeing that some particular pastimes fashioned people creatures of habit and inspired a perpetual narcissism. It was not long before she came to the rubbish skip, where she would normally see him.

On hearing her inappropriately clad footsteps, his whole body pivoted to face her and she took in his unwashed demeanor, glassy eyes and for a moment or two she supposed he mistook her for someone else.

"Hope I didn't disappoint you, Vernon." She met steel grey eyes, orbs she knew would only be half expecting her.

Nonetheless her greeting went unanswered so she opened up the beige purse hanging by her side and rummaged through it carefully. "Nice to see you as well," she fumbled out graciously as her nose was still considerably engrossed in peering down into the bag.

He still would offer no reply, to which she could not fault him. To partake in his sort of recreations, he would have to hold no preference as to what niceties that would come with the package. Vernon, he was a quiet and subdued man, if one would consider judging a book with a tattered covering without going about to inspect the particulars of the inside flaps. He was not hushed, merely hesitant, something over time that was acquired with an extensive background such as his.

His hand reached out automatically to receive what she offered to then stupidly gaze at the packet of needles in his hand.

"They're for you," she stated. "I promised myself after missing you the other day I'd come up with a way to make it up to you." An empty smile came across her carmine colored lips. Her meek grin, it was not meant to be disingenuous but at times like these ones where she could not speak to convey her meaning her intentions appeared masked, suspect. The truth of it was that neither mere words nor any kind of compassionate gesture meant more than little, no matter how fervent the attempt sapped, this _truth_ tore at her irrecoverably.

He would offer no thanks, they never usually did.

She let her fingers wrap around his grey sleeves, which looked as though at one point in their hard life was black. Autumn might not be as tranquil as everyone predicted this year, it would be unbearably cold soon and it escaped her how he could wander bitter nights for the past few weeks let alone for the ensuing few. Beneath the ashen skin jacketing his wrist, a frail throb betrayed the false reserve of fantasy that kept him standing before her.

She slipped a rolled up twenty in his hand.

It wouldn't be in her place to speculate what he might do with this small gift but nonetheless the heavy suggestion came off her tongue dead. "Get something to eat."

She took him in once again. He was straight, lanky, with wild dark hair and an expression of hunger written on his face. This kind of hunger she found in certain men, not of want of food nor drink but that of a desperate want for reemergence to the surface. He was there beneath the placid surface, merely inches away from salvaging the rest of his life. However, he was not ready. And that alone did not permit her to save him. Breaking set limits, although she could no longer recall as to why these were necessitated, proved to implement ties where she could no longer remain objective.

She gave him one last smile, knowing this meeting could not go any further.

She did not want to know him, where he came from, nor where he slept his stupor nights. She did not have the interest. All she knew was like well rehearsed, geared, and greased marionettes they were but players on the stage of fate and that his path, just as hers, needed to play itself out. If she intervened with this natural order what would that make her, a god? Of course no, because there was only _One_ who held that purpose, and reasonably it would do her no good to step on anymore toes.

She turned, in her bright pumpkin wear, deciding it was now time to leave. That is, if she planned on making it back to the shop in time from this overextended lunch break. But as she was in the midst of deliberation he did something totally uncharacteristic. He had already begun to retreat from her maybe half a meter, when in mid step he turned back to face her.

"Thanks," was all he said.

But she was no fool and did not miss the moment of lucidity that cleared his eyes when his tongue moistened his crusted lips. That was all she needed as resolve that this had been a worthwhile day.

She needed not reply, merely an inclination of the head and she walked away. Her legs were again on another mission, this time obligations that did not pull on the proverbial heart strings. Around her, the streets were teeming with life as everyone droned about in their well-planned lives of failure or the needle in the haystack individual who had achieved that one chance of success.

She navigated through the likes of partnered men and women, buoyant children, and maybe what appeared to be a stray dog or two. Blaring autos were lodged bumper to bumper and even after the light shower this morning, the dim smell of piss lingered. Lights lit up the streets almost on cue like Christmas tree pepper lights, and she realized she could not ever tire of this. The slight of breath as though one passed from a quiet death into rebirth. And that fervor entangled every single afternoon. The chaos of it, oh that she loved.

She passed the threshold into the shop that held the dreariest banner, in comparison to the other establishments, in a two block radius. Surely, she thought, must invest in one of those new although not relatively _new_ neon lighted gadgets. It was decided, _Sothe Novelty_ would get its long time in coming makeover.

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A/N: Sothe = sounds like moth only with an "s"

I'm sort of reworking my approach to the Underworld mythos and dabbling with it. I hope you like this one, I've poured a lot of thinking and back-story that surely will pique your interests. This is sort of an ambiguous rendering of a first chapter but I want to ease in with the protagonist and her interaction with other major characters. Not one of the best summaries, but it shall suffice for now.

Also, to those of you who follow up on my other fics they have not been abandoned! Especially _The_ _Vesper's Cusp_, I've currently redrafted previous posts and am working on a new chapter. Plus, I use a broadband that is currently MIA in another state so for the past few months I've been in virtually a viral wilderness when not making tedious treks to the library.


	2. The Ghost of You Lingers

**Chapter Two**

**The Ghost of You Lingers**

Several days later she was informed through an acquaintance that he had overdosed. Vernon had been found dead like a dog in some alley trench, his tongue lolled out of his head with junk up his arm. She stuffed a slightly nibbled bagel loaded with strawberry cream cheese into the recess of her mouth. The lock sprang open and she felt the stale air abruptly exit _Sothe Novelty_- there was no need crying over spilt milk, like everything else she'd seen his kind before. Not that she felt little pity for the lost soul, but it was more so being seasoned in the industry of wretchedness and desperation. To be in her line of work she had to expect that one day she could be offering a cig only on the next breath to find the man expiring right before her with his eyes jelling out, like something she'd expect to find in the funny papers.

Whatever rode him into his madness was more than what she could remedy, let alone anyone else for the matter. Somewhere though, deep within the compartmentalized emotions and rationale, she did grieve. But never could she admit this to herself for she had so cultivated herself on her steely disposition, what had spared her life in so many instances before.

If no one claimed the body in a fortnight she'd give it a proper internment, she decided.

By quarter to nine of opening up shop she had a steady influx of patrons. Many were tourists, others her regulars but neither distinction saved them from being looped in the same tedious cloud looming overhead. Maybe she should consider selling, something which often flitted through her mind every now and again whilst in bouts of depression.

She would purchase a cottage with the sale. She could move somewhere more tolerable, perhaps Kent.

"Sothe."

She had been so rudely interrupted from her reverie.

"Sothe," a gangly man straddling the waning era of his late twenties stood before her. His pale skin was almost iridescent beneath the counter's lighting. "Sothe," he repeated again. "That's you, ain't it?"

She snapped, "Who's asking?"

Not the most agreeable way to greet a potential customer, but the day was already shit so what difference did her sour temperament make? It was all the more reason to sell if he defamed the character of her store.

"So I guess it's you then, huh?" She did not miss the way his jaundiced eyes gazed through the glass counter to run over her legs, perversely remaining on her crotch.

For the second time for the day she had regretted donning shorts.

"What can I get you?" She chose to ignore his folly. "As of yesterday, we are fully stocked. We have tinctures, oils, salts, tarots, and etc. We provide expedited shipping from our catalogs."

On cue, his gaze tore away momentarily to take in the rows of shelves containing anything from herbal remedies, talismans, incense, oils, to devices for carnal endeavors. The place was earthy, primal and lit with dim lighting to conjure the theatrics. The small interior was not devoid of potency, a deep sensuality resonated from the very walls and the wisp of a man who stood before the woman called Sothe did not fail to believe it began with her and was fueled by her. Everything was covered in dark wood, the shelves slightly aged and he couldn't escape the feeling of delving into Africa or somewhere Oriental, just as long as it was dark and exotic. Just as this woman was.

His Chuck Taylor clad feet crossed the embroidered carpet of rich blood-coloring, emerald, and ebony to stand before her. Now so close the intensity that flowed from her, he couldn't help but feel somewhat intimidated beneath her glare.

From her pedestal above, she leaned across the counter. "Can. I. Help you?" She annunciated.

Closer, he walked. The gangly man's head bobbed lightly in hesitation, the Mohawk lay atop his head deflated to one side, brushed like a comb over. Fidgeting in his tight black pants he cleared his throat once, "I'm having slight trouble."

"If I'm going to be able to assist you sir, I need to know a little more about this _condition_." Sour temperament aside, she was becoming overly interested.

"It's down there." Rather conspicuously, his head dipped as his forefinger pointed lamely to his genitals.

The sheepish look across his face made a conniving smile upturn her mouth. For how bold this man had been earlier in assessing her assets, before her now he bowed into a gullible boy, like putty in her hands.

She discerned exactly what he meant. "Is that all?"

"No," he licked his lips and looked off to the side. "You read cards? Like a fortune teller, I mean."

"Well I can assure you I'm not just some _fortuneteller_," she spat. She couldn't help but feel a bit insulted at how loosely he threw the word around. "I'm a spiritual advisor. There is a difference."

Like it made much of any difference, "Okay, whatever but can you help me?" His palms were now sidling along the seam of his pants in hopes of ridding excess moisture.

Silently, she removed her body from her perch to sift through a nearby shelf.

"Aren't you going to say something?"

Without looking in his direction, "The chart behind the counter; palmistry, full tarot readings are available as well as meditation exercises. Are you interested?"

"Can I get a reading? How much would that be?"

She glided towards the entry of the store, flipped the OPEN placket to BACK IN 15 then with a slight flick of the wrist switched the lock before turning to face him.

"Follow me," she motioned to the back of the store where wooden beads hung before an entrance. Hesitantly, his legs urged him onward. There was no reason for a bout of trepidation to inflict a set of somersaults, right? Regardless of that doubt in reason he trailed behind her very much like the scolded school boy he felt.

The isolated room boasted similar décor as the larger one. A bulky, ornate- russet colored table took up much of the space. It was accompanied by three unpleasantly meager chairs that were grouped about the mass as though as an afterthought. He sat without instruction and looked about him.

Thick amethyst drapes concealed half the room which constricted the openness of the space, giving him the sensation of the walls apparently retreating into each other. A vintage, heavily stained pewter and crystal chandelier resided above the table. The area was more reminiscent of belonging to a decrepit biddy whose craggy hands still obliged a nostalgic heart into maintaining pomp of long ago. The only eye sore that overcast the grandeur was the mini-fridge that sat across the room along with a sort of retro stove top, but if it merited there atop rested a classic tea kettle.

Much like a child, who after some time has figured out the ruse of the Christopher Cringle and his other fantastical brethren, he looked about as a sort of disappointment took hold of him. Where was the crystal orb that should sit upon the alter-like table or the chalice from which the seer should drink, or even the ominous fog to fill the air or perhaps that of the pungent incense that filled the store room? He was decidedly disappointed.

Undiscouraged by his apparent shift in mood Sothe moved about as though she were in the comfort of her own loft. The deep burgundy area rug muffled the sound of her footsteps.

"Oh, before I forget. Could you please remove your shoes." The latter came out more as a command rather than an inquiry. Cleanliness was next to godliness and in addition limited her time spent with a mop and bucket. Content that he had obeyed, the smile returned to her mouth as she shed her own feet of her black boots, unlacing them ever so methodically. The result that she was after pleased her even further for he shifted within the hard chair uneasily, all the while eating back the words of hasten.

"Would you like tea?" She had already begun to pour steaming water unto the tea leaves. "I've only got Linden, so there's not much of a choice." She set the platter with the kettle and cups in the center of the table.

His fingers gratefully wrapped themselves about the cup and saucer, something to still his hands and stabilize his nerves. "Never had it before, Linden I mean."

"It's good for you," Sothe insisted. She looked at him for maybe the fourth time since he walked in her store. "You need to relax. Really, you do. I won't be able to help either of us if not."

Her words did little to pacify his spirits instead he went on about the tea. "I'm not sure I've even heard of it." Nonetheless, he nestled the cup in the palms of his hands and sipped deeply ignoring the heat pooling into his mouth to well and trickle through his strictures. Within a few moments as she guessed his worries were mollified, a more manageable subordinate.

He couldn't remember having seen her drink from her cup but the need to ask suppressed itself as though an unseen force reached from the heavens to placate his tongue. Instead he watched as she walked over to the mini-fridge and heard the suction release as she opened it to retrieve some kind of object, then the distinct sound of liquid splattering liquid, a glance over her shoulder, and move forward only to have a mug in her hands all in that order.

Unease filled the tiny room, wafting from her. Of course he hadn't seen the plops of crimson blood first one then six more droplets, she was very careful when it came to things like this. Apprehension had filled her because it had been what, four weeks since she had tapped her last donor? She was very particular about a _Giver_ because obviously they had to be untainted of either disease or unstable emotions, because just as the aforementioned hindrance the madness was just as potently transmittable. Sothe had made the mistake once before, which she hated to admit, but it had caused her to be ill for days on end and contemptible enough to attempt to slaughter any unsuspecting straggler. Maybe a pint at the most she would siphon, she wasn't at all greedy, merely what she needed to appease her requirements. The pool of the small circle from which she drew lessened each time as the contraction of some malady grew steadily.

Sothe sat before him with her belly filled of tea and reverie, ready to exact her duties. If the dose of Linden she'd given him were stronger she would've relented to her strained patience to shout an explicative at his now bloated face. How many years had she been free of this? And in suit her fortitude would break and time and again she would be running back to a line of trade that would surely save her from poverty. If she hadn't feared that so, she could be free of it. But people, curse them, so many aimless souls needed guidance. Like this shadow of a man who sat before her in whom she could see the malice in his heart, now that she saw with refreshed eyes. He'd hid this of himself so well, it had almost fooled her.

Her eyes went glassy then blackened wholly, which he'd write off as to the poor lighting. Now her body was supple from all that new blood settling in and the burning began. It started in her womb and its eager little fingers unfurled and extended to touch wherever there was flesh upon her body. Of course, that would excite him, as her breath hitched and faltered and came in short spurts. And he'd imagine his presence did that to her, he could feel her. Him within her, his bulk between her legs making her squirm and go on like that. Thin lips receded to expose a predator's smile.

The gangly man's skinny hands felt heavy as he realized he was cured, _cured_ he would've said. If not the burgeoning in his pants weren't so darned distracting. He envisioned what he would've done were he a braver man. Damn, he would- he'd fling her across this table and watch her-he cared whether she resisted or not- as he stripped her legs bare of those damned shorts and sully that intolerably white top and did things to her that she'd surely remember his infamy well into the next lifetime. Then the blackness was on him, diverting him from his wicked thoughts.

It was over in minutes. He was back, and he was once again the gangly man who at times found himself uncertain when he looked at a beautiful woman. Without a word he rose, for he felt they were through here. A wad of cash fell unto the table as he took in her rough appearance. Her hair was out of place and a fresh sheen of sweat coated her forehead.

Sothe, she was breathless and speechless- something that hadn't befallen her, not in this life. All she could find the strength to do was watch lamely as he sauntered from the room only stopping briefly to glance back at her with that gleam still remaining in his eyes. Violently she retched out the contents of her stomach, the bagel from earlier. Never had she come across malevolence so deep it had the power to spread her thin. Out of new found fear, but she couldn't surely fear _him_, she gathered the might in her limbs and rushed out to the front. He wasn't there, thank goodness. There was a small chance he would've been able to overcome her. She could not trust herself, not like this.

On returning to the room in the back, she found that the air had managed to dissipate if only a little. But chill crept up her bones at the loitering electricity. She faulted herself because it had been months since she'd last _Converged_. And to have combined with such a volatile mind on first try without a warm up, utterly reckless. She softly butted her head with the palm of her hand.

"How could you be so stupid, Marlowe?" That would be the topic for the next few weeks. How could she? The bigger issue at hand was now that she'd _seen_ what she had, what was her agenda? Play impartial while the fucker ran wild throughout the streets doing whatever he did? She gulped down the remaining dregs in limbo from her cup.

_Rupert_, that was his name. Rupert. He hadn't told her, but she knew and in knowing such an intimate detail about a being gave her all the influence she needed. She'd found it once her skin brushed his as she'd taken the cup from his hands. And she'd plan to know far more of him.

She'd kill him herself in hindsight were he not so pathetic. _Novelty_ sure knew how to drag in the depraved ones. But never pull the cart before the horse, was her motto. Wasn't it enough to assuage her conscience of her capabilities or that of fate's? She'd gone into the reading with the habitual mindset of it being a chore and should've known her interest wasn't piqued simply for "no reason".

Against procedure in the reading she'd foregone the soothsayer hogwash and had given him a taste of what they'd all so romanticized and plead for. She'd shown him his path: _live life_. He'd felt the thrill, the rush of what he found completion in fulfilling. That was truth enough to have him leaving with a new found pep in his step, what she'd never done for any of the other patrons. He'd been different and now she wasn't sure if she should've gone and done that.

The entire time through the fire, between the pain and frenzy, she'd wanted to shout. _There! Right above the left shoulder there lays the Grim Reaper's spectral dot! _He would've deduced her to be a loon and rightfully so. But this unassuming, at first glance, young man's days were numbered. She'd seen it whilst in her trances, even without them oftentimes. That said dot would soon no longer float about perplexed to then latch on and feed from his flesh. It will engorge its spectral body until the burden of this man's past is felt upon his youthful shoulders. Then Rupert would be Rupert no more.

It was there with Vernon, his own spectral companion, each time she had seen him. Therefore his death had been imminent and so in tradition begun to grieve for him, although at the time he could walk about and be alive in his own skin. But Vernon, he was a different man and she couldn't bring herself to feel that he deserved a better death. For he had died in one of his stupors, he wouldn't have known if the sun torched the green green earth. He felt no pain.

So relative to that observation, the man who recently left her store perhaps had, if she were generous, maybe two weeks time. This certainty did not alleviate her worries though because he would have a lot of time between now and then and she couldn't interfere with death's clock. Not this time at least for it frightened her to again break the frail peace of mind she'd made for herself.

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A/N: I really enjoyed that one. Hmm, so what does happen next? We will have to see, yup I'm already sifting through the third chapter yay. I'm really enjoying third-person, I find it more cathartic and relay-able even though I long for first (my weaker trait).

To clear up a possible confusion her name is Marlowe Sothe. And I can tell I'm going to have a lot of fun with her character, she's decidedly imperfect and tends to teeter far wing into both sides of the spectrum of good and evil.

Please give feedback on the progress so far or any thoughts where this might possibly lead. Or even pertaining to what she is/or capable of, I'm being especially ambiguous on this one for now.


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